


(rest assured, baby) you're adored

by sheron



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: Steve looks after Tony when he's sick.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 40
Kudos: 237
Collections: You Gave Me A Stocking 2019





	(rest assured, baby) you're adored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willidothefandango (nagth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagth/gifts).



> Written for "You Gave Me A Stocking" exchange, with thanks to ishipallthings for looking it over. The title is from the lyrics of The Tea Party's song "Heaven Coming Down".
> 
> Thank you for all your support, willidothefandango! I've wanted to write something for you for a while, so here is some sweetness.

"Look, just. Let me die," Tony groaned. 

He was not being overly dramatic!

Even those few words reawakened a tingling itch in his throat and for the next minute he could do nothing but cough — dry, and sending spikes of pain resonating through his whole chest. His head was pounding. He had to be running some 104 degrees fever and his nose was all stuffed up so he couldn't even breathe properly. Tony hardly ever got sick, but when he did, it was like this: a full-blown misery. When he gingerly opened his eyes to peer out from under the down-filled comforter, Steve was there with sympathy all over his face. 

Steve was, of course, entirely unaffected by the flu that had swept through the city like a plague, yet even so, he looked tired. He'd stayed up with Tony all night to look after him. Steve was almost disgustingly sweet about it, too: patient with Tony's taciturn moods, going as far as to fluff his pillows and change the cold compress on his forehead, even bringing him a bowl of chicken soup broth when Tony couldn't keep anything else down. He always spoke in a soft undertone for the sake of Tony's terrible headache. Tony didn't deserve him.

"Can you try to sleep some more?" Steve asked now, brushing a tender hand over Tony's brow to sweep the stray damp locks of hair off his forehead. Tony turned his face into the touch; he liked the feel of that hand. Steve paused, and kept his hand in place. His palm cupped the side of Tony's head. "You need to rest." The dark sky outside the bedroom window meant it was still entirely too early.

"I'm sick of lying down," Tony whined, having lost track of what passed for his dignity sometime around Day Two. His patience with feeling like death warmed up was also at an all time low. He kicked the mattress with the heel of his foot. "I'm bored." And then, when his head protested the exertion of _all_ that talking and moving, sending a wave of fresh agony through his nerves, he groaned, "God, my head hurts." His voice turned thready at the end and tears sprung to his eyes. Wonderful.

"I know," Steve sighed, his thumb brushing Tony's cheek. "Wish we could watch a movie or something, to pass the time."

Looking at a screen made Tony nauseous enough to throw up the last time they'd tried it, so that was out. He couldn't read either. Steve frowned, and pressed his lips together, studying Tony's face with a deep, penetrating look as if he could _will_ him back into health. Shivering from cold despite the fever, under a mess of bed-covers, Tony could only return his gaze with remorse. He was pathetic and they both knew it.

"I can think of a way to pass the time," he mumbled, trying to power through on sheer verve, even if he was feeling about as sexy as a limpet.

With a twitch of lips, Steve bent and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Later," he closed the topic decisively, getting up and looking about. 

Tony got so anxious at the thought of him leaving, he instantly decided it would be for the best. "You don't have to stay." Had to get it over with. His heart began to pound in his chest. He hated feeling so damn useless, and hated having a witness even more. In the past, Tony had tried very hard to not let anyone see, but he'd...slipped. And he'd let Steve in. 

"'Course I'm staying." Steve's voice turned grumpy. He rubbed the back of his own neck in thought. "How about I read to you?" And he was off to scan the rows of books on the shelves by the far wall. Tony watched him, somehow taken aback and unsure why he was so. 

He stayed quiet, watching Steve run his fingers down the spines of books.

"Tolkien?" Steve said with his face to the shelves, before turning to Tony in question.

Tony swallowed against the thick knot of feelings in his throat and didn't say a word. Steve must have taken it as a no, because he slid the book back into its place on the shelf and kept searching.

"Are you really gonna read me a bedtime story?" Tony asked, with his scratchy voice.

"Well, yeah?" Steve said distractedly. He didn't seem to think anything much of it. "Oh. _Watership Down_ , how about it?" He selected the book and leafed through the pages, returning to the bed. "That sound okay?"

"Knock yourself out," Tony said softly, something warm and shivery blossoming in his chest when Steve only smiled in response.

"Scoot over." 

Tony stared at him, damp-eyed, before moving over a bit to give Steve space to get in. Kicking off his shoes, Steve drew back the covers, and slid underneath them right next to Tony. Steve put one arm out in invitation. After a moment of doubt, Tony scooted right back up next to him, and curled up under his arm, laying his head on Steve's broad chest. Steve held him close with the arm around him; his other hand held the open book in front of him. The quicksand of helplessness receded, like fog under the warmth of sunny rays. The two of them were cocooned under the covers, the world outside the bed seemingly irrelevant, insubstantial. What was true was Steve's strong arm around him, solid and sure; that was real. Steve started to read, his low, calm voice washing over Tony. His chest rose and fell, carrying Tony with him. 

"You're the best," Tony whispered under his breath at some point. He wasn't even sure if he'd meant for Steve to hear that, but Steve did. He fell quiet mid-sentence. They stayed that way for a still moment, then Tony felt a soft kiss pressed into his hair. 

Steve resumed reading aloud, and one thing was different: a new note showed up in his voice that spoke of gladness, a certain measure of happiness that snuck in. Tony nuzzled his chest, while the quiet words filled the room and Steve's steady heartbeat echoed in his ear. 

Don't let it be said he couldn't recognize love.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Survivor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22767766) by [jellybeanforest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest)




End file.
